Comperio
by Shade Embry
Summary: Mulder, Doggett and Doggett's partner, Agent Stark Patrick, chase Krycek's secrets. Part 2 of 2.


TITLE: Comperio  
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick  
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com  
SPOILERS: Existence  
RATING: PG for language  
CATEGORY: Case File, new character, Doggett, Mulder  
and Krycek-heavy (definitely WIP)  
SUMMARY: The second of three standalones which  
interconnect. If you haven't read "Conloquor," I  
recommend you do, or you'll miss the case file part of  
this. While in the midst of accepting possibilities  
they don't want to admit, everyone looks at the  
implications, and begins the bitter task of trying to  
sort the whole sordid affair out. Sometimes, there is  
a pause before the storm, but there is still thunder  
before the lightning.  
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris  
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new  
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of  
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In case you don't speak Latin,  
Comperio is Latin for "to learn." And I borrowed from  
the upcoming feature film "Swordfish" for parts of the  
plot (I'm a self-admitted Hugh Jackman fan). No, I  
don't spoil the movie's plot, in fact, I think I  
butchered the general premise rather badly. But it's  
good to recognize your influences.  
  
  
Some other thought it's thinking  
This illumination visited upon the whole land  
The demon was an idea  
The demon is awake  
A scratch mark left across the surface of your mind  
This hour now upon us  
The hour has now arrived  
I heard what they said  
I know the truth...  
- Soul Coughing, "Unmarked Helicopters"  
  
In that state between sleeping and waking, the mind  
is wont to make situations more realistic than they  
could ever possibly be, if that makes any sense. A  
person can experience much more than they thought they  
could when floating in this limbo of consciousness,  
especially when high levels of stress or other  
emotions cause a mind to develop certain neuroses. It  
is thus, then, that a single gunshot imagined in this  
state of being could sound like a thousand, tearing  
through human flesh and bone with rivers of blood and  
an agonizing pain that feels as if there is  
deconstruction atom by atom in a neverending suffering  
that can only be stopped by a sudden return to the  
land of the living with wide-eyed fear, a pounding  
heart, and a suitably decent scream.  
  
Special Agent Stark Patrick rolled over onto her  
back, trying to still her rapid heartbeat as she took  
desperate breaths. Her pulse continued to pound in her  
ears, and she fought to shove the memory out of her  
mind. She sat up in bed, bent over, arms wrapped  
tightly around her chest, trying to come to terms with  
herself, trying to come to terms with how someone who  
had faced liquid metal killing machines from the  
future and almost anything the X-Files could throw at  
her could be haunted by one deceptively simple shot.  
"Christ," she muttered to herself as her bedroom door  
slowly opened.  
  
"I thought I heard..." her partner started.  
  
"You did," she admitted, running a hand through her  
short dark hair in frustration. "It happened again."  
  
Special Agent John Doggett gave an almost  
imperceptible nod, taking this in from his position in  
the doorway. He did empathize with his partner; he had  
told her all about Anthony Tipet and the third eye and  
his return from the dead and the other cases that had  
come to be his baptism by fire into the X-Files. He  
had known when she had transferred in, and he had told  
her so, that it was no easy place, no safe place, for  
any agent. Everything that would happen after that  
moment would pass through the filter of the abstract,  
abnormal, sometimes frightening experiences that came  
as a result of being assigned to the X-Files section.  
It had happened to Scully, it had happened to him, it  
had happened to Stark. Despite this, she still  
displayed the tenacity he had known of her in Criminal  
Investigations, tackling anything and everything when  
no one else had the strength to. She'd been nearly  
strangled by a liquid metal cyborg, been briefly  
telepathic, hunted a woman who claimed to speak with  
the voices of murder victims, investigated the  
resurgence of the Andromeda Strain, and entered  
hypervirtual reality, among other things, and yet she  
survived. This time, however, the implications of one  
shooting had caught with her.  
  
It was not, he surmised, the actual shooting that  
bothered her. She had healed nicely, even if it had  
been arduous and unexpected, and she was in fighting  
condition. Rather, it was the idea that a dead man had  
handed her a minidisc less than a day ago and forced  
her to consider that when the Assistant Director they  
all answered to and respected shot that same man, that  
he may have done so in a negligent manner, for  
possibly personal reasons. That was what terrified  
her. Accusing a friend. The resurgence of the dead.  
Cryptic languages and late-night meetings and the  
things that happened when crime flirted with agendas.  
She was a superb investigator; she was not prepared  
for the intricate levels to which cases such as the  
one that had appeared to her in the parking garage of  
the Hoover Building could rise, and in this case, had  
risen.  
  
He closed the door behind himself and sat on the edge  
of her bed, looking into her eyes, which displayed a  
mixture of confusion, fear, attempted endurance, and  
fatigue. "We'll make it through this," he insisted  
quietly. "You, me, Agent Scully, Mulder ... we'll  
survive this. That's what we do."  
  
She glanced up at him, "And what if we're wrong? If  
it's all wrong?"  
  
He let out a tense sigh. "Then we get up off the mat,  
we find our next case, and we try it again."  
  
There was silence in the room for a moment as the  
partners of seven years studied each other. They'd  
worked together four years in C.I.D., then when he had  
been transferred, they had spent one difficult year  
apart before she had followed him to the basement of  
her own volition. If there was anything to be said  
about their partnership, and the friendship that had  
evolved with it, it was that they walked through fire  
together. There was never a moment when their loyalty  
to each other could be questioned. Not even in  
difficult times such as these.  
  
"I guess you're right," she admitted. "I just want an  
answer. The truth."  
  
"It's what we all want," he reminded her needlessly.  
"Sometimes, it just takes a while to find it."  
  
"And sometimes we don't find it at all," she added  
caustically.  
  
"But we have to take that chance," he finished the  
statement, squeezing her hand firmly. "C'mon. We're  
meeting the Gunmen and Mulder over at Scully's place  
in," he looked past her at the digital clock on her  
nightstand, "a little over an hour."  
  
She looked over her shoulder; the clock read 8:14.  
"We were supposed to be at work an hour ago," she said  
incredulously, then looked back at him for an  
explanation.  
  
"You needed your sleep. We all did." Doggett  
shrugged. "We're all just coincidentally taking a sick  
day."  
  
"And A.D. Skinner obviously won't notice that the  
basement is strangely empty." Stark rolled her eyes,  
climbing out of bed, "I'll be in the shower."  
  
"I'll be in the kitchen," he told her as they walked  
out of the room, noticing the subsequent look she gave  
him. "Hey, breakfast is the most important meal of the  
day. And given all the stuff that's been happening, I  
think we'll need all the nutrients we can get."   
  
"You may have a point," was all she said before she  
walked away, hoping for once that maybe, just maybe,  
he might be wrong on that count.  
  
  
********  
  
  
She had never wanted to believe. In fact, she had not  
gone into that basement office almost three years ago  
with expectations of experiencing what she had. She  
had chosen her actions with the single intent of  
following her partner, the one person she needed with  
her above all else. Of finding him and fixing whatever  
had been screwed up in her life that one year they'd  
been apart. She hadn't come in because she believed,  
because she even cared. But slowly, as she had seen it  
all, she grew to understand.  
  
Understand what it was Fox Mulder was after and how  
it went so much deeper and had so much more meaning  
than some of the cynical aboveground agents assigned  
to it. Understand that there are possibilities beyond  
that which everyone expects. Understand that there are  
other explanations, and that sometimes there aren't  
explanations at all. It was this thinking which lead  
Stark down the path that she had to pursue whatever  
had been thrown at her, even if she didn't like the  
outcome. The cops in Baltimore homicide had taught her  
that you put down a case, no matter if it's your  
grandmother that pulled the trigger. Once a case went  
up in red under your name, you did everything you  
could to put it in black, no matter what. This same  
mentality, along with the infinite possibilities which  
she knew were possible, made her chase what Alex  
Krycek had allowed her to see. And she hated him for  
it.  
  
Her fist collided with the punching bag in the other  
bedroom hard, a result of all this emotion, so hard  
that her knuckles stung with the contact. She didn't  
really care. After all the B.S. the X-Files had thrown  
at her, she had a high threshold of pain. She took  
another shot, and even through the glove she felt the  
burning sensation. For a brief, fleeting moment, she  
wished it was Krycek, simply so she could let him  
experience what she was experiencing inside herself.  
But she couldn't fault him as much as she wanted to.  
It was her and her alone who'd sat on her couch mere  
hours ago and given John all the reasons why she  
should do this when he'd told her simply to say the  
hell with it and walk away. She didn't listen to him  
enough, she decided.  
  
"Watch it. You're gonna hurt yourself," he said from  
behind her.  
  
"I don't think it makes a difference," she replied as  
her fist hit the bag again.  
  
"I think it does," he shot back, and she took a few  
more needless punches before she threw down the gloves  
and examined her hands, which were in places somewhat  
red. For once in her life, she didn't have the courage  
to say something in reply, and walked past him. It was  
not a day of conversation. It was a day of war.  
  
  
********  
  
  
"Déjà vu," remarked Fox Mulder as he let the two  
Special Agents in the door of his ex-partner's  
apartment later in the morning. Stark and John gave  
him one of those 'it's not terribly funny but thanks  
for trying' consolation-prize glances, and waited for  
him to close the door and give them whatever news had  
passed in the hours since they'd last spoken somewhere  
around 4:10 in the morning. He did, and nodded toward  
where Lone Gunmen Frohike, Langly and Byers sat  
clustered around Scully's computer. "They've opened  
some of these files," he explained, "and they say they  
seem to be Syndicate documents."  
  
"No surprise there," cut in John. "What kind of  
documents?"  
  
"All kinds of documents," Mulder elaborated. "Things  
having to do with the nanoprobes in Assistant Director  
Skinner's blood. Things that seem to point toward the  
Syndicate trying to manipulate us, trying to force a  
course of action so that, inevitably, the Assistant  
Director would shoot down Alex Krycek."  
  
"Sort of like 'All roads lead to Rome?'" Doggett  
half-quipped.  
  
"Or 'All lies lead to the truth,'" replied his  
partner, walking between the two men and over to the  
computer. "You want to fill me in?" she asked none of  
the three Gunmen in particular.  
  
"It's frighteningly simple, actually," Byers said.  
"The documents here are showing that the Syndicate  
engineered events so that Krycek would be shot by the  
Assistant Director. For what reasons, we still don't  
know. But if this is true... a good many things we've  
learned over the past year, solutions to things,  
answers to things, could all be ... I don't quite know  
how to say this ... a lie."  
  
Stark nodded in acceptance, though her mind was far  
from it. "Can we authenticate those as being from the  
Syndicate?"  
  
"Yeah," her partner agreed, "I wouldn't count Krycek  
above forging all this to scare the living hell out of  
you and Covarrubias."  
  
"So we're talking about the unraveling of a scheme ...  
or a scheme," Mulder deduced simplistically. Stark  
nodded. "Unfortunately, I can't say which one," she  
admitted. "But it could be Swordfish," she added  
abruptly.  
  
Mulder and Doggett exchanged glances. All three of  
the Gunmen looked at Stark. "You know about  
Swordfish?" was Byers' rejoinder, followed shortly  
thereafter by Frohike's "But that's just a speculation  
... a speculatory system, it's never been confirmed."  
The conversation would have gone on longer, but  
Doggett cut in, "Okay, you guys want to tell me what  
you're talking about here?"  
  
Stark started to explain, "Swordfish is the password  
- and, by default, the codename - of a rumored  
computer hacking project. It's been a pet case of mine  
almost since I joined the Bureau."  
  
Langly helpfully assisted with the background, "There  
were - are - rumors going around that Swordfish is  
masterminded by a former, or current, member of the  
CIA, to steal billions of dollars allocated to a DEA  
project using some computer and phone technology, not  
to mention a crack team of hackers."  
  
"It could be possible," she took over again, "that  
Krycek is, or was, involved with Swordfish. This data  
would, when exposed, collapse the Syndicate, and a  
majority of government moles. The entire system of  
intelligence would go down, and then that would..."  
  
"Leave room for Swordfish to steal more than  
billions," Mulder finished. "I think you may be  
reaching, but at this point, no alley's too blind to  
run down," he assented. "Where would we start?"  
  
"With me," Stark said quickly, "I've got stuff on  
this project going about eight years back over at my  
apartment."  
  
"Okay." Mulder paused. "Langly, Byers, Frohike - keep  
after that data, and see what you can tap into on  
Swordfish. Agent Patrick - would you mind if you had  
some company?"  
  
Stark smirked, "No problem, Mulder."  
  
END PART 1  
  
=====  
  
PART 2  
  
You're no longer my story  
Someone should tell you  
I'm balancing the curve  
So unafraid  
I'm not falling too rough  
I'm measuring your words  
Don't hesitate  
How cleverly you ramble  
When it's too late...  
- Jan Johnston, "Unafraid"  
  
"How come I didn't notice this before?" was Doggett's  
remark when Stark opened her hall closet to reveal  
stacks of boxes, all carefully labeled "Swordfish"  
with various years and subsequent months within those  
years. As Stark selected the most recent - that  
particular month - and dropped it on her living room  
table, she shrugged. "You're mellowing, John," she  
said. He smirked. "That must be it," he replied as  
Mulder opened the box, sifting through various  
clippings, computer printouts, photographs and  
spiral-bound notebooks full of notes. When Stark had  
said she was into Swordfish, he hadn't estimated just  
how much.  
  
But before he could say anything, she walked past  
him. "I need to make a phone call," she told him, and  
picked up her cordless phone and walked into her  
bedroom, leaving the two men to look at her years of  
research.  
  
She dialed the number of the Bureau's L.A. field  
office. "This is Agent Patrick with the D.C. office,"  
she told the person on the other end of the line, "I  
need to speak with Agent Roberts."  
  
"Just a second." There was a click; Special Agent  
J.T. Roberts picked up a moment later. "Roberts."  
  
"J.T., it's Stark Patrick. Got a moment?"  
  
"Agent Patrick, hadn't expected to hear from you  
again," Roberts said, dryly amused. His voice sounded  
overstressed, though, and as John had taught her, she  
picked up on it.  
  
"Something up, J.T.?"  
  
Roberts sighed. "We've just got some weirdass shit  
that just went down. What d'you need?"  
  
"I need to get in touch with Stanley Jobson," she  
explained. "Know where I can find him?"  
  
Roberts swore. "Yeah, I know," he said after a  
moment. "He's out of Texas. I think he's in Arizona  
with his daughter."  
  
"He got Holly back?" Stark was momentarily surprised.  
She'd caught this guy once before, and knew his life  
story. She didn't expect that a felon would have his  
kid. Stanley was a hell of a lot cleaner and ethical  
than many felons she'd met, but with his reputation  
and the fact that he'd tried a dozen times to win  
custody, she hadn't thought one of these days he'd  
actually win.  
  
"Yeah," Roberts said. "He was the major player in  
this thing that just went down. Blew a fucking  
helicopter right out of the sky, took down this  
terrorist who was using human hostage bombs."  
  
Stark looked out her open bedroom door at John and  
Mulder. "What the hell's going on out there, J.T.?"  
  
"Swordfish," Roberts said. "That's what's going on."  
  
She sighed. "Funny you should say that, J.T., 'cause  
that's just what I need to talk to Stanley about.  
We've got our hands on some stuff up here that we  
think is connected to the whole thing and we need to  
find out fast. Some data. I can't tell you much more  
until I know it. Could you send all your stuff?"  
  
"No problem," Roberts said. "Official or unofficial?"  
  
  
"Unofficial," she said. "Tell Stanley no harm, no  
foul, but I need his help on this one. And ask him how  
the jaw is."  
  
Roberts chuckled, remembering the punch she'd used to  
take out the computer felon two years prior. "I think  
it's fine," he said, "I'll set something up between  
the two of you. We can fly his ass out there. I can  
disguise it on my travel account."  
  
"I owe you, J.T.," she told him, then hung up the  
phone and walked back out to her expectant company.  
"I'm not calling it much," she confessed, "but I've  
got a friend setting up a meeting with a guy I helped  
bust two years ago. He might help us put the pieces  
into place."  
  
"What the hell did you get into while I was gone?"  
Doggett quipped. He'd heard pieces and parts of the  
story, and he put it together. "Is this that thing you  
were in Texas for?"  
  
She nodded. "Stanley Jobson, computer felon. He's  
forbidden to go within sixty feet of a computer. He  
blew up the Carnivore program. Since I was a member of  
Cyber Crimes Task Force, they called me out on it. I  
hooked up with J.T. Roberts from L.A. and we put the  
case down."   
  
"Carnivore? That thing that reads people's e-mail?"  
Mulder said incredulously. "I would have given the guy  
a medal."  
  
"So would I," Stark said, shrugging as if to say it  
had been out of her hands. "So if this has anything to  
do with computers, Stanley's our guy. If he'll come  
anywhere near me," she admitted sheepishly. "But  
anyway, I talked to J.T. and he says - get this - he's  
got some Swordfish stuff going down in L.A., too. He  
says he'll send the stuff and fly Stanley out here.  
But this is definitely big game."  
  
"Obviously," Mulder said. "But the question remains..."  
  
"What does Krycek have to do with it," Doggett  
answered it for him.  
  
Mulder nodded. "Exactly." He turned to Stark. "How  
soon can you meet this source of yours?"  
  
********  
  
"You're sure that this is down?" John asked Stark for  
the fifth time as Mulder swung the car around into the  
back parking lot of the Blue Light Diner, which had  
been selected by Roberts as the place where Stark  
would once again come face-to-face with Stanley. It  
had taken three days to persuade him and get him to  
D.C., during which there had been virtually no  
progress, but the show was now in motion.  
  
"Stanley doesn't bite unless you make him," Stark  
said tiredly as they exited the vehicle and began  
crossing the parking lot. She checked for her gun  
inside her baseball jacket, then turned and looked at  
her two compatriots. "I told him I wouldn't be alone,  
but for once," she said slowly, "trust me." They  
nodded and turned, heading for the front entrance. She  
waited another few minutes and went in through the  
back.  
  
The diner was nearly deserted, but not enough to make  
anything noticeable; there were still a few people.  
John and Mulder were toward the back, and she could  
tell her partner was nervous - all his muscles were  
tense. She spotted Stanley instantly. He was taller  
than she was, with dark hair and eyes, and she would  
have thought him attractive if she'd been a few years  
older. He didn't appear like the prototypical  
convicted felon. He'd cleaned himself up from last  
time she'd seen him, and she knew he was waiting for  
her. He had an acceptance on his face as she slid into  
the booth. "Just like old times, huh, Stan?" she said  
quietly. He smirked. "I don't know, you want to punch  
me again?"  
  
"Not really," she said. "I talked to Agent Roberts.  
Congratulations on everything."  
  
"Thanks," he replied. "I was kind of hoping L.A.  
would be the end of all this."  
  
"So was I. But like I said, I need your help on this  
one." Stark sighed. "Here's the situation. My partner  
and my co-worker are by the front door. They're not  
going to bite unless I tell them to. I'm carrying a  
gun and I'll use it if I have to. I'm not here to bust  
you, but I do need you to work with me. Can you do  
that?"  
  
Stanley looked over his shoulder, presumably at  
Mulder and Doggett, and nodded. "Yeah," he said after  
a moment. "Talk to me."  
  
She explained the whole situation with Krycek and the  
Syndicate and the minidiscs and the data they thought  
was on them and what she thought was the connection to  
Swordfish as quickly and as easily as she could. She  
explained how Krycek had broken into her apartment,  
how he had gone after Marita Covarrubias, how her  
shooting had gone down, and all the other things that  
she'd learned in the last five days since the whole  
thing started. There was silence for a moment as he  
thought over everything. "I know what you're thinking  
of," he said, "but Swordfish went down in L.A."  
  
"I've read J.T.'s reports," she said, "I know that  
you blew a helicopter out of the sky and shot down  
Gabriel Shear."  
  
"First of all, Shear's not dead. That's not his body.  
I saw that body in his basement long before it turned  
up in the coroner's office. Second, the reports don't  
tell you everything you'll need to know, because  
Roberts doesn't know the whole story." He saw the  
intrigued look on her face, and continued. "I was  
hired to do the Swordfish operation - literally build  
the hydra, drop it in, steal the money, okay, which I  
did..." He put up a hand to forestall her from saying  
that it was a crime to do so and she should send him  
back to prison for it, as he knew she would. "But I  
engineered a clock timer when I did. Thousand and  
twenty-eight bit cypher, even I can't crack it. The  
money jumps every sixty seconds to a new series of  
accounts. Shear can't touch it. He thought I had it  
disabled, but what he didn't know was that I built a  
secondary timer that activates as soon as he tries to  
touch the money."  
  
"Has he?"   
  
"No, but his associate has," Stanley explained. "I  
logged into the World Bank's mainframe, and someone  
matching the description of his right-hand woman  
Ginger withdrew the entire mass of it into nine  
different accounts. We're talking nine billion dollars  
and change here."  
  
Stark sighed at the sheer amount of it. "But if  
Shear's got the money, why would Krycek try to  
collapse the government's moles so that he could take  
it?"  
  
"He doesn't technically *have* the money," Stanley  
corrected her again. "And a few days before he got it,  
we found the body of a minor U.S. senator in Oregon.  
Understandably, the public will never hear of his  
death, but that makes me think that Shear has his  
connections. Which could lead to your Syndicate."  
  
She nodded, then paused. "How the hell do you know so  
much, Stanley? You trying to get that world's most  
dangerous hacker title back from the Finnish guy,  
what's his name?"  
  
"Axel Torvalds. And he's dead. Has been since the  
beginning of L.A. Shear's guys got him in the  
interrogation room shortly after he was caught at  
customs and dragged into Roberts' claws." Stanley  
paused. "I should ask you what you think you're  
getting into here."  
  
Stark smiled. "I'm just trying to figure out how dead  
men seem not to be, Stanley. Just doing my job."  
  
"And if you can do it," he said with his own smile,  
"then you're one hell of a federal officer."   
  
She paused, looking past him, past John and Mulder,  
out into the darkened D.C. street, then she flashed  
John a particular signal before turning back to  
Stanley, who seemed vaguely amused. "What?" he said.  
"You're going to tell your partner to kick my ass  
because I've offended you?"  
  
"No," she said as she felt for the handle of her gun,  
"I just told my partner to go find out who's watching  
us." Pulling the weapon, she signaled to Mulder, who  
approached the hacker as Doggett slipped out the front  
door. "Stay here," she told Stanley.  
  
"Fat chance of that," he said, rising to follow her.  
At her questioning eyebrow, he said, "We're both on  
the same side here, Agent Patrick." She didn't have  
time to argue. She started toward the back door,  
letting the hacker and Mulder follow her out with a  
quiet expediency.   
  
She had her hand on the back door when a single  
gunshot split the night, then another, and two more.  
They ran out the door and rounded the corner of the  
parking lot. She kept a firm grip on her weapon, her  
eyes searching the night for John. But there was too  
much haze in that D.C. night to see. She once again  
passed her charge into the custody of Mulder. "I'm  
going to find him," she told them both, starting  
towards the front lot where the scene had gone down.  
  
"What the hell are you thinking?" Stanley bit back.  
  
"That's my *partner* out there," she replied tersely.  
  
"Don't you understand?" he said. "It's you they're  
after. He didn't call on your partner, he went after  
you. Gabriel went after me, not Roberts. It's only by  
chance I'm still alive. This isn't about any of the  
people you think it's about. It's about you. You're  
walking into their hands."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises," she said,  
cocking the weapon. Before Stanley Jobson could say  
anything else that might prevent Stark Patrick from  
certain suicide, another shot sounded, and she  
disappeared into the haze of the night, accepting  
whatever fate hers might be.  
  
END PART 2  
  
  
=====  
  
PART 3  
  
This was such a go, take it all right  
Taste it all right  
Tell me what you know, you'll take it all right  
Gotta take it slow, you'll make it all right   
Like a stranger and a friend  
Sea crashed in and the swordfish goes  
Not too lonely, no  
Get out of my life  
- Paul Oakenfold & Planet Perfecto, "Get Out of My  
Life Now"  
  
It was the last thought she expected to have as she  
entered the fire.  
What do you expect me to think, John? What do you  
expect me to feel? Do you want to blame this on me,  
all of this, the shooting and the break-in and all of  
this, because I alone decided to pursue this? Are you  
going to lose respect for me because I decided to  
question what everyone else is telling me is the  
truth? No, I know you wouldn't. But I know there's  
part of you that is.  
It was simple facts, cold and cruel. She knew that  
her partner was highly defensive of the shooting of  
Alex Krycek, which the books called clean. Her  
decision to question it - the choice which had landed  
them in all of this, including the shootout now taking  
place between her partner and unknown assailants in  
the front parking lot of the Blue Light Diner - struck  
a chord somewhere in him, she knew it. That was why he  
hadn't wanted to get involved, but he'd become  
involved. He didn't want to think of questioning other  
officers. He would, if that was the honest truth, but  
until he was sure, he wouldn't even think that. She  
had no such problems, especially since Agent Gene  
Crane had gone missing and she had nine billion  
dollars floating in cyberspace as a result of  
Swordfish, the secret theft operation which had  
apparently now gone bi-coastal.  
All that she cared about, though, were the bullets  
flying in the distance.  
She held her breath for a second against the wall of  
the diner, then filled her lungs with fear and  
exhaled, coming around the corner with gun leveled to  
fire.  
Her partner had taken cover behind a parked vehicle,  
and she saw him fire another shot. Maybe ten feet  
away, a sharp-looking black Mercedes provided similar  
protection for two other people, one of whom she saw  
through a shattered backseat window, the other who  
took another shot. She dove for cover before he could  
notice her, her back slamming hard against the front  
passenger-side door of the Acura that her partner was  
leaning against. He glanced at her as she looked at  
their assailants. "Welcome to the party," he quipped,  
but she was in no mood to laugh. "What the hell  
happened?" she asked him as she observed the other  
car.  
"I walk out here and start heading for the car, and  
they started shooting," Doggett explained. "Like they  
knew who I was."  
"I bet they do," she said. "I bet they know all about  
us."  
He nodded with a grim acceptance. "What do you want  
to do?"  
She paused. "I don't think they're going to run out  
of bullets any time soon. These are probably Shear's  
people. We take them down."  
"That's what I do best," he said with a smirk.  
She smiled briefly. "I'll draw their fire from this  
side. Can you circle around and get the jump on them?"  
He didn't say anything, but she moved around the  
front of the car to between it and the car parked next  
to it, firing two more shots. It was all the jump he  
needed to break away and find the cover of the diner  
building. She made brief eye contact with him; behind  
him she could see Mulder, doing his job holding back  
Stanley, who surprisingly wasn't fighting as much as  
she'd thought he would. But she could see the look on  
his face: he still thought she was crazy, but he was  
ready to pull her from the fire if need be. She didn't  
understand it; she had, after all, put him in prison.  
But she nodded to John, and he in turn enlisted the  
aid of their two compatriots. They weren't much use  
standing around; he would put them to use.  
All she had to do was wait. Stark fired again, and as  
she dropped back behind the vehicle she heard the  
sound of a window blowing out. She looked up and  
realized that whoever drove the Toyota she was hiding  
behind would need some body work done shortly. These  
guys were professionals, she realized. Shear or  
whoever had called the hounds on her had sent not  
cheap street assassins, but professional hitmen, to  
take her number. Problem: she wasn't ready to die yet.  
She brushed the glass off of herself and took a second  
to line up her shot before she fired; even as the  
blood sprayed off the shoulder of one of her  
assailants, the other fired a shot that barely missed  
her. She fired her remaining three bullets just  
because she could.  
She knew she was outnumbered. Her aim had never been  
that sharp, despite John's tutelage. But she just had  
to kill time before they killed her.  
Come on, guys, she said silently as she loaded  
another clip, thankful that she'd been paranoid enough  
to carry extra ammunition. I can't do this forever.  
More gunfire sounded, but it sounded away from her,  
not in her general direction. The sound of people  
hitting the pavement confirmed that the cavalry had  
indeed arrived. Standing with her weapon, she raced  
across to the battered Mercedes where John had one man  
on the ground and Stanley had a gun to the wounded  
man's head. She let out the breath she had been  
holding, her heart pounding, her chest heaving,  
shimmering slightly in the moonlight and haze because  
of pieces of glass still left on her jacket. "Verify,"  
she said to Stanley, knowing he knew the phrase well.  
He glanced up at her, still holding the gun. "Clear,"  
he said, still breathing hard. "You all right?"  
She nodded. "Except for being under a shattered  
window." Even so, she didn't put the gun away. "What  
do you want to do with these guys?" she said to no one  
in particular.   
Mulder answered her. "Let's find out what they know."  
Stark produced her set of handcuffs and tossed them  
to him, shaking her head. "It's going to be a long  
night."  
"No shit," Stanley said, hauling his charge to his  
feet. "What was your first clue?"  
"Maybe the bullet that barely missed my head." She  
watched Mulder and Doggett secure their two new  
hostages. "We need to talk."  
  
********  
  
"You know those two?" she asked Stanley as they  
walked back to the car that the federal officers had  
driven in. "You seen them before?"  
"Never," he said.  
"I have," she told him. "They were at the airport  
when you and Torvalds showed up in L.A. Roberts got a  
screen capture of them both. He knows they're  
connected to the death of Torvalds and the Finnish  
lawyer."  
"Doesn't bode well for me, does it?" he said  
rhetorically as she opened the car door and found the  
Swordfish file that Roberts had sent her. She found  
the screen captures and showed them both to him. He  
examined them both, then looked back over his shoulder  
at the Mercedes. "They probably work for Shear," he  
stated the obvious for her.  
"I need to know who this guy is, Stanley," she said,  
closing the car door and locking it. "You need to tell  
me who I'm up against."  
He sighed. "I don't know that much."  
"Tell me what you do know."  
"He had Ginger pick me up from the airport and meet  
him in some club. Then he holds a gun to my head and  
gives me sixty seconds to crack the DOD system.  
Anything he can't get out of you, he puts a gun to  
your head or some explosives on some innocent victim  
and that solves the problem. The guy gets you, takes  
what he wants when he wants it, and disappears."  
She rubbed tiredly at the bridge of her nose as she  
took this in. "Torvalds described him as 'a cold,  
unflinching, calculating machine.'"  
"That's about right," he said. "You want my advice,  
walk away now. It's not worth it. It wasn't worth it  
for me, it wasn't worth it for Roberts, it wasn't  
worth it for that woman who exploded like the world's  
largest living Claymore mine in the middle of the  
street outside the World Bank. Don't put yourself  
through this."  
Her gaze turned hard around the edges. First John,  
now this. "The truth may not set you free," she told  
him firmly, "but it is always the truth."  
Then she gave John another signal, popped out her car  
keys, and circled the vehicle. "Get in the car," she  
ordered Stanley sharply. He eyed her cautiously. "What  
are you thinking?" he asked her.  
"He contacted Marita hours after he found me," she  
repeated for him. "If they're after me, she's in  
danger, too. Now get in the car. We need to get to the  
U.N. yesterday."  
He did as he was told. She pulled the vehicle out of  
the diner parking lot, stepped on the gas and sped  
down the street at ninety miles an hour listening to  
Paul Oakenfold, hoping she wasn't too late to get  
where she needed to go, trying to forget where she'd  
just been. And silently cursing Alex Krycek.  
  
********  
  
Grinding the gas pedal into the floor of the car,  
Stark reached for her cell phone, pulling out the card  
that Marita Covarrubias had given her and dialing the  
number as she turned the music up another notch. She  
wanted to drown out the sounds of gunfire in her head,  
drown out her memories of another time, another  
bullet. She listened to the phone ring. Finally, there  
was an answer.  
"Marita? Are you okay?" she asked immediately.  
"I'm fine," the U.N. agent said, concerned. "Agent  
Patrick, what's going on?"  
"I'm on my way. I'll explain when I get there," Stark  
said quickly, "but I've just been shot at by people  
sent by someone who may be working with Krycek. You're  
in danger. Do you have a weapon?"  
"Under my desk."  
"I want you to get it, and I want you to get out of  
your office and somewhere safe. That's the first place  
they'll look for you. Find somewhere and stay there  
until I get there. Can you do that?"  
Stanley tapped her on the shoulder. She glanced over  
and followed his gaze.  
"Do it now, Marita," she said, and hung up the phone.  
Slamming the phone down with one hand, with the other  
she swung the vehicle hard right, turning it entirely  
around in the intersection. The black vehicle not  
unlike that which had been following them slammed on  
the brakes. Stark didn't wait for them to start  
driving again. She looked over her shoulder, swung her  
car into reverse, and backed the vehicle through the  
intersection, where she quickly turned it hard around  
again, with the scream of agonized tires her reward.  
She stepped on the gas and continued to drive  
one-handed, looking behind her as their pursuers  
righted themselves and started to drive again.  
"How many of these people are there?" she asked  
Stanley.  
"As many as it takes," he told her.  
She nodded, reaching for her gun. "Can you drive?"  
she said, unbuckling her seat belt.  
"The last person who told me that was Gabriel, before  
he murdered eight people in the street firing an  
assault rifle while I drove," Stanley said, his voice  
full of bitterness and edge, but he unbuckled anyway  
and she quickly climbed from the convertible's  
driver's seat to its backseat. The vehicle slid  
without anyone to control its wild flight, but Stanley  
quickly regained control and Stark uncocked her  
sidearm. If it were up to her, she wouldn't murder  
anyone tonight, but she was fast realizing things  
weren't in her control anymore, if they ever had been.  
She set up a shot and fired, grazing one of the  
vehicle's front tires. The car briefly lost control  
for a second, enough to throw off the driver but not  
to total the vehicle. Before she could try for two,  
however, her own vehicle swung hard around a corner.  
"Hold on," Stanley told her without looking back  
before he ran a red light in a highly crowded  
intersection. She was thrown back against the back of  
the driver's seat as he swung to avoid a Hyundai that  
slammed on its brakes in the nick of time, then turned  
hard in the other direction to miss a Saturn and  
grazed a Ford Explorer in the turn lane on his way  
out. The turn was a violent whiplash which briefly  
disoriented Stark's vision, but it paid off when she  
saw her pursuers trying to break through the resulting  
traffic jam. The distance between them continued to  
grow. Despite this, she didn't let herself relax. She  
never could.   
She didn't want that to be mistaken for weakness.  
She had to find Marita.  
Then, maybe, just maybe, she could breathe, period.  
  
********  
  
Stark didn't wait for the car to stop before she  
jumped out of its backseat and went running for the  
doors of the U.N. building. Stanley stopped the car  
and was seconds behind her. She didn't look back,  
didn't think twice. She knew she was being chased and  
every second counted. Marita Covarrubias, her only  
connection to Alex Krycek, was in danger. Or she could  
already be in hot water. Stark couldn't take that  
chance. She sped up the stairwell she'd mounted three  
days ago, taking it in double-time with a desperation  
she'd never known before. Stanley covered her with her  
own weapon, and they made it to the landing in record  
time. Every muscle in her body screamed pain, every  
particle of her sixth sense screamed danger, but she  
did not allow herself to stop.  
There was, after all, one law: fight or die.  
No room for middle ground.  
"Where the hell is she?" she growled as she opened  
the stairwell door with her shoulder and burst onto  
the landing, Stanley following behind her. Marita's  
office door was wide open, the light still on. Stark  
rushed to the door, her mind fearing the worst.  
"Damn it!" she yelled at the sight.  
Covarrubias's office was a ruin, the desk broken, the  
papers all over the place, all of it strewn in pieces  
and parts all over the place. Someone had gotten here  
first, looking for something that she didn't know if  
they'd found. They were not alone. She turned then and  
headed down the corridor towards where she'd met  
Marita earlier, yelling the United Nations' special  
representative's name. The only answer she heard was  
the shattering of glass.  
At the sound, Stanley turned and followed, but Stark  
was already around the corner.  
Two gunshots reached the hacker's ears.  
Marita Covarrubias fired a third shot before Stark  
could stop her or help her. A shadow crumpled against  
the wall of the U.N.'s computer office, and a backwash  
of red accompanied the motion. Stark kicked open the  
shattered door, looking down on yet another black-clad  
corpse she didn't know. Marita's hands were shaking  
and she slowly put down the weapon, unable to take her  
eyes from the man she'd just killed.   
Stark pursed her lips to say something, but couldn't  
find the words.  
Stanley stepped into the room, took one look at the  
body and the two women, and shook his head, dropping  
Stark's weapon to his side.  
He watched Stark cover her eyes with her hand in  
abject disgust, then slam her fist blindly into the  
wall. She walked out of the room before either of them  
could say anything, out onto the landing, past Doggett  
and Mulder, who arrived on the scene in time to  
witness the tepid silence. She stopped only to ask one  
question.  
"Where are they?"  
Doggett paused. "Six feet under."  
"When?"  
"Not too long after you left."  
Stark nodded soberly. "Fine."  
"Are you okay?" her partner asked quietly.  
She shook her head, her eyes flashing with a bitter  
cognizance. "No, John, I'm most decidedly not okay."  
She exhaled. "Shear wants a war, he's got one. I'll  
kick in every door, I'll break every head, but I'm not  
sleeping until the bodies stop falling. I started  
this, I'm going to finish it. Whether you're with me  
or not, that's your choice."  
He didn't have to think twice. Or at all.  
"You know your answer."   
"Not yet," she said, "but I will. After all," she  
soberly admitted, "It's all I have left."  
  
END  
  
=====  
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."  
- Lewis Black  
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They  
walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the   
door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we   
can do. You know what the trick is?   
Dan: What?   
Natalie: Get in the game!   
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night" 


End file.
